KILL THE VIRGIN IN YOU 8

- "That saint…" Yana grimaced. "You her errand boy? Started off tougher."

I didn't like her sneer. I hadn't scoured dives for this.

- "Maybe I am tough," I said, snatching her glass and sliding it away.

She gaped, stunned, then her eyes darted behind me.

- "Let's see…"

Rough fingers tapped my shoulder, forcing me to turn.

"You're in my seat," a hulking guy growled, drilling me with a glare he thought was fierce.

- "Can't you see," I shot back, cocky, "I'm talking to a girl?"

Lately, my nerve shocked me—like the medallion demanded it. This shaved-templed brute irked me, shoving and staring like he owned the place. Why do these entitled jerks, unchecked since diapers, act like this forever? Why's no one stopped them? Why do they think they own girls like her? My thoughts, sure, but yesterday, I wouldn't have cared.

- "So," he gritted, "you're in my spot, chatting up my girl? Drank my beer too?"

- "Maybe I did."

His fingers stopped tapping—now they gripped, hard, like he'd rip my shoulder off.

- "Let's step out…" he hissed.

Before I could agree, he yanked me deeper into the bar, dragging me so fast I walked just to avoid skidding. Sasha's warning hit late: Yana's new guy—probably him—was a psycho. Worse, the medallion only worked on girls, not their boyfriends.

---

- "You dumb or suicidal?" He slammed me against the wall. "What's your angle?"

The bathroom was silent, empty. Cold tiles scraped my skull; his words echoed.

- "Want trouble? Picking a fight?"

He sounded like he needed my okay to pound me. Dumb—score one for me. But his bulk was the only edge I'd get. I had to stall, confuse him—make him think instead of swing.

- "What's it to you? I was talking to a girl."

- "My girl!" He shook me, banging my head against the wall. "Get it yet?"

Cracks in the ceiling blurred. Something creaked—I feared my skull, but it was just the door.

- "Everything okay?" a guy peeked in, cautious.

- "Get lost!" the brute barked.

The door slammed, snuffing my escape. He raised a fist, and I caught flame flickers in his eyes—like Scarlett's.

- "You a demon or what?"

- "Huh?"

His fist dropped; he glanced around, rattled. Just us. His elbow pinned me harder.

- "Who're you?"

While he was off-balance, I had the edge. Dumb demons couldn't differ much from dumb humans.

- "Someone you'd better ditch nicely," I said, bold. "I'm taking the girl."

I couldn't leave her with a demon.

- "You're just human!" Flames roared in his eyes.

One hand held me; the other tore at my collar. I froze—what the hell? His smoky fingers snagged the chain, yanking like he'd decapitate me with it.

- "Where'd you get this junk?" He jabbed the medallion, pissed. "Lilith? That bitch?"

- "That bitch," Scarlett's voice boomed overhead. "Back off my familiar, scum!"

Of all her pop-ins, this topped them. I looked up, floored.

Huge black wings flared behind her, hovering under—no, *replacing*—the ceiling with a vast, dark void like a night sky. The world shrank to black and red. Her eyes blazed red, white hair turned fiery, flames now cloaking her—burning without harm. A Scarlett I'd never seen: stunning, awe-inspiring, terrifying. I vowed not to piss her off again.

---

The demon dropped me; my head thudded against the wall. He wheeled, glaring at her.

- "Dawn Maiden, what're you doing here? This is Sal's turf!"

- "Mine now!" she snapped. "Wanna fight about it?"

Their red eyes clashed, a silent war—both poised to strike. Then he stepped back.

- "I'll tell Sal!" he hissed.

- "Sure you will," Scarlett's lips curled. "I'll even speed you up!"

Her wings beat, and flames swallowed the room—cracked floor, tiled walls, rusty sinks, me. Fire licked my legs, arms, chest, lapping the medallion. It didn't burn or hurt—just unnerved me, like it could turn real any second.

Another wingbeat, and the door crashed open—like a dozen boots kicked it. Invisible hands snatched the demon, flinging him cartwheeling into the hall.

- "Bitch!" his furious yells echoed. "You'll pay for this!"

The flames vanished. I turned to Scarlett—she was gone. The cracked ceiling loomed again.

---

Stepping into the hall, I saw the demon wrench the front door open, hinges squealing, his rant fading into the night. Silence hit the bar, then a "Goal!" shout from the screen broke it. No one looked—instead, they stared at me like I'd soloed a monster. They thought I'd handled him.

Yana's shocked gaze flicked from me to the bar, like she'd just snapped awake, wondering why she was there.

- "Cool enough to hear me now?" I sat across her again.

She blinked, speechless.

- "You really my classmate?"

- "Go to university more," I said. "You coming tomorrow?"

She nodded slowly, eyes glued to me.

But the talk stalled. Her gaze roamed my face, dazed, barely managing small talk. After that demon, who knew what swirled in her head—or how long she'd take to recover? The medallion stayed silent.

No shot here. What'd Scarlett do if I missed today's quota? Hope she didn't save me just to torch me.

- "See you there," I stood. "Ditch that creep. No one's always around to save you—use your head!"

Yana stared, frozen like my old laptop. Did she even hear me? The medallion wasn't as almighty as Scarlett claimed.

- "Well, bye," I grabbed my jacket, turning to go.

Another "Goal!" rang out, the bar buzzing, mugs clinking.

- "What," her voice cut through, "you just leaving?"

The medallion flared like hot iron. I spun back.

- "Don't you think," Yana clasped her chest, nearly spilling out of her top, "you owe me now?"

A sly spark lit her eyes, wiping away the fog.

- "You wrecked my night," she went on. "Tossed my boyfriend out… What're you gonna do about it?"

The medallion's heat screamed my answer. When'd I snag *this* flag?

- "Let me treat you," I said, sitting back down.

---

- "I've wanted to ditch that jerk forever!" Yana said, sipping beer.

The last fifteen minutes, she'd livened up—no more daze, like she'd hit a cold shower.

- "Why didn't you?" I asked.

- "After sex with him, I'd feel I couldn't leave. Weird," she mused, "like I'd lose something… I'm weird anyway—only dump a guy after sex with the next…"

She eyed me, testing my reaction. The medallion warmed steadily, a sweet hum.

- "That's me," she said, defiant, "a bad girl! How're you with bad girls?"

- "Fine," I said, glancing at her top's bulging curves.

- "Good. I get mixed reviews… How'd you find me?"

- "Sasha Bennett gave me the address."

Yana's laugh was sharp.

- "Of course she did! She's a mess!"

She gulped her beer, grimacing—maybe the swill here, maybe her thoughts.

- "I don't care what people think! I live how I want, do what I want! Those hypocrites who preach one thing, do another—screw 'em! Sasha's so screwed up she snaps at everyone, the bitch!"

Her mug slammed the table, testing its rickety strength. She met my eyes, daring me, the medallion stoking my anticipation.

- "What about you? I'm spilling my guts, sharing dirty secrets. What's the dirtiest thing you've done?" she asked, teasing yet bold. "Gotta have something?"

I shrugged. Pre-Scarlett, my life was proper but dull—no dirt, just dreams. The medallion birthed me anew.

- "Made a deal with a demon," I said.

- "Why?" She blinked.

- "To have sex with girls I like."

She grinned, taking it as a slick line, her curiosity spiking.

- "You like me?"

- "Wouldn't chat all night if I didn't," I said.

The medallion blazed, heat drowning me. Yana toyed with her mug, then shoved it aside.

- "Since you went that far for sex, here's a legend you'll love," she smirked mischievously. "They say there's a bar in this city so filthy, dripping with lust, you feel it stepping in. Everyone inside obsesses over sex—who to grab, who to give it to… Nothing else matters. But the real secret's not that," her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "It's in the bathroom. A stall covered in names. Write yours on the wall, and you're guaranteed sex that night…"

She leaned back, sipping lightly. The medallion's heat choked me.

- "Like the story?" she squinted.

- "Cool," I said. "Wish I could find it."

Her chair creaked; she stood.

- "Come on, I'll show you something…"

I followed. Yana pushed the bathroom door—the one her ex flew out of. Patrons glanced, silent, as we entered together. All night, they'd eyed me with respect, fear, now envy. I'd be this bar's new legend.

No trace of the fire remained. The cracked ceiling and dim bulb were back. Yana led me past rusty sinks to the last stall and swung it open.

- "Look…"

Names plastered every inch—walls, door—packed tight; adding one meant overlap. Some in pen, some scratched with keys or nails—desperate folks without tools. Some clear, some faded.

Yana fished lipstick from her jeans, popped the cap, and scrawled three bold red letters over others:

**YANA**

The medallion's heat nearly torched me.

- "See," she tossed the lipstick in the trash, facing me, "I'm having sex tonight…"

She unbuttoned her jeans.

- "No other guys here…"

She slid them down, panties too.

- "Help me out?"

Guess I'm mastering bathroom sex.